


Three Seconds In The Sky

by Mungo_of_Maundery



Category: The A-Team (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s04e18 The Duke of Whispering Pines, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, Nightmares, archive warning due to description of an attempted lynching, fairly canon typical violence but i figured better safe than sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29253987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mungo_of_Maundery/pseuds/Mungo_of_Maundery
Summary: Face wishes B.A. and Murdock could have stayed out of trouble, just this once. That way he'd still have his nice grey suit. He is definitely NOT worried about his friends, not at all. It's all about the suit.
Relationships: B. A. Baracus/H. M. "Howling Mad" Murdock
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	Three Seconds In The Sky

**Author's Note:**

> this was my first A-Team fic, I started writing it back in the summer of 2020 then abandoned it, but I finished it off finally and here it is! truly cementing my niche in this fandom as 'bad things happened to Murdock and I wanted to see them acknowledged a bit more'. The BA/Murdock element can def be read platonically if that's more your thing but I had romance goggles on when I wrote it.

Face takes in the scene before him with a jolt that feels like stepping off the edge of a canyon, a surge of fright that threatens to override years of training and experience in an instant. It’s all he can do to keep his foot on the accelerator and his hands on the wheel as the car before them reverses and Murdock, feet scrabbling for purchase, drops from the tree.

Time stretches the brief seconds into hours. The rope about Murdock’s neck snaps taut and for a moment that feels like years he is dangling, legs flailing. Face counts the seconds in his head as he pulls up as close as he can – one… two… three… and they’re in range, and Murdock is still suspended by his neck. B.A. is yelling, words Face can’t hear. There’s a shot – Hannibal – and the rope breaks and Murdock falls to the floor and rolls away. Still moving. Still alive.

How do Murdock and B.A. _manage_ this, Face wants to know as he leaps from the van. Less than twenty-four hours by themselves and they’re arrested by local law and getting themselves lynched in the middle of the night. 

Face drops to his knees beside Murdock while Hannibal frees B.A., and in one quick move loosens the knot and slips the noose over the pilot’s head. Murdock tilts his head back and gasps, once, twice, three times. They sound like sobs of pain or relief, but Murdock’s eyes are dry and staring. Face throws the rope from him as though it might burn his hand and moves to untie the cords binding Murdock’s wrists. There’s a quick, firm hand on his shoulder, however, and Face desists and steps back.

“Don’t move, Captain,” murmurs Hannibal, and Murdock complies, still-wild eyes catching his commander’s. “Anything hurt?”

B.A. has joined them now at Murdock’s side, uncharacteristically light-footed, almost dancing on the spot, looking pained and nervous. Face meets his eyes and tries to look reassuring, but he’s not sure how successful he is, because B.A. looks away.

Apparently satisfied that Murdock is in no danger of immediate expiration, Hannibal draws back a little and nods to Face, who finishes untying Murdock’s hands. They immediately pull away and go instinctively to his injured throat. He rolls over with a groan and accepts Hannibal’s hand pulling him into a sitting position. B.A. makes a noise that Face can’t identify and walks away, towards the van. His arms swing roughly, flexing away the stiffness from being tied to the tree, and then he jams his thumbs into his pockets.

Murdock runs a hand gingerly around his collar, swallows reflexively and winces. Already, there’s a raw red burn from the rope. There’s no bruise yet, but there will be soon. Face looks away. Again he wonders: how do they get _into_ these things?

Hannibal rises to his feet and after a moment Murdock does the same. He moves stiffly, as though the action causes him pain, but neither sways nor stumbles. He dusts some dirt from his suit – and where did he get that suit? Face thinks he recognises it as the one that he wore on the way out to Hannibal’s set, and feels an extra stab of dismay at its ill-usage – then raises his chin and meets Hannibal’s eyes again.

“Let’s go,” says Hannibal. “We’re getting out of here. Now.”

Face starts to protest. “Hannibal – ”

“He’s fine,” Hannibal interrupts. “Aren’t ya, Murdock?”

Murdock makes a vague noise of assent, still grazing his fingertips against his neck. There is no levity in his tone, but he stands a little straighter under Hannibal’s confidence.

Hannibal stops, watches Murdock inscrutably for a moment, then nods and goes around the front of the van to get in the passenger seat. Murdock and Face follow. B.A. and Murdock stop outside the back door of the van. They don’t look at each other, but B.A.’s hand grips Murdock’s arm just above the elbow, for the barest of seconds. Murdock’s eyes are on the floor.

Catching him staring, B.A. gives Face a look, then turns and climbs into the van with Murdock. Face shrugs and gets into the driver’s seat.

They don’t dare stop anywhere they might be spotted, and it’s too late at night to do anything other than camp out and wait for dawn somewhere relatively safe and try to catch some sleep. As they drive, B.A. explains the situation in more detail. Sometimes, Hannibal makes a noise of acknowledgement, or asks for clarification on a point. Murdock says nothing. Face drives until Hannibal says, “Here,” and gestures to a turnoff.

Hannibal doesn’t seem annoyed, exactly, but he is unsmiling. From B.A. and Murdock’s subdued faces, Face guesses they know they’re in trouble. Then again, maybe they’re still just in shock. One of Murdock’s hands slips out and holds B.A.’s.

Face takes the first watch while the others try to settle in the back. His palms itch and there’s a tension in his upper back that won’t seem to ease no matter how he sits. When he closes his eyes, it all appears before him again: B.A. immobilised, Murdock’s drop at the end of a rope. The thought that he and Hannibal were almost too late – no, they _were_ too late, three whole seconds too late – nags at the back of his mind and although he tries to put that thought away with the rest of the bad thoughts that he’s collected over the years, he can’t seem to file it without risking the rest of the thoughts coming out. And that would _really_ ruin his night.

So, he sits and thinks: _we were too late. We were too late. We let them down. We weren’t there._ Until the thoughts begin to morph into: _we weren’t there because they ran out on us, and they got into trouble. They always get themselves into trouble. Can’t I have a day off?_ He sighs. If Murdock had done what Face had asked him to, this would never have happened. But then, if Murdock hadn’t gone with B.A., B.A. might have got into worse trouble and not had anyone to help him. It was Murdock who called the set, after all. Face shakes his head and sucks the inside of his cheek. ‘What-ifs’ aren’t helpful, Face is just annoyed, and afraid, and the fear rubs him up the wrong way and makes him want to lash out at the pair of them for making him fret over them.

Face looks over his shoulder. Hannibal is elsewhere, pacing outside, making sure the area is safe. Face hopes he won’t go too far. He peers over to where Murdock and B.A. are sitting in the back. They’re so close that in the darkness it’s difficult to tell where one of them ends and the other begins. They’re buried in one another’s shoulders, Murdock’s hand on B.A.’s leg with his fingers twisting in the fabric of the jumpsuit, and B.A.’s arm around Murdock. Face can’t help but stare, but something must alert them to it because Murdock shifts and looks up, nudging B.A. Again, Face is on the receiving end of B.A.’s glower and he holds up his hands defensively and turns back to look out the front. There’s a shifting sound as someone pulls out a blanket.

Eventually, everything falls quiet. Face doesn’t complete his watch, because Hannibal rejoins the party and climbs into the front seat to relieve him.

“Can’t sleep?” Face asks sympathetically, knowing that Hannibal hasn’t tried.

“I’ll sleep later.”

When Face slides between the seats and gets into the back, B.A. is finally asleep. Murdock hasn’t moved, which Face supposes is a good thing. It probably means he’s asleep, which is a standard response for Murdock after intense situations. As Face settles down, however, he trips on something in the van, one of Hannibal’s props, probably – _dammit_ – and collides with B.A., who stirs, and there’s a clang as one of his feet hits the wall of the van. Hannibal turns to see what’s happening.

“Sorry,” Face hisses.

The only person who didn’t respond to the noise, he realises as he leans back against the most comfortable part of the van he can find, is Murdock. Face sighs. He should have known it was too good to be true.

Once he’s sure B.A. is settled and that Hannibal is once more occupied with his thoughts, Face says softly, “I know you’re awake, Murdock.”

Murdock still doesn’t move. If anything, he seems stiller than before.

Face shrugs and rolls over to make himself more comfortable.

“I’m awake.”

That’s a start.

“Your suit’ll need laundering,” Murdock adds.

Face finds himself laughing, without much humour. “You’ve, uh, _borrowed_ my suits before, you know. You know my pants don’t fit you. Get your own tailor, why don’t you, instead of ruining good clothes?”

“You mean I can keep ‘em?”

“You’ve got to be kidding. I need to see if they can be salvaged first, these things are expensive.”

“That’s okay. Wearing suits makes your fingernails go green anyway.”

“Sure. Listen, if you’ll take my advice, Murdock,” Face rolls over again so that he’s facing Murdock. He waves a hand at him to emphasise his point. “You’ll stick to khakis. It’s your vibe, you know? You stick with your clothes, and I’ll stick with mine, okay?” Face can feel his voice rising slightly and worse, can feel B.A. laughing at him. He hopes he’s just imagining things, but then B.A. murmurs, “Hey man, it’s not his fault you’re a twig and he ain’t. Murdock’s using his assets for the good of the team. You just making bad chicken casserole and scammin’ those poor set workers out of their hard-earned pay.”

Murdock is choking into his elbow, having inhaled wrong on the word _assets_. B.A. hisses a laugh and slaps his back. The force of it knocks Murdock against the floor of the van with a thud. “Thanks,” Murdock says, his voice muffled. “I ‘ppreciate it, B.A.”

“Whatever,” sneers Face. They’re both idiots. He turns back to Murdock. “Don’t steal my clothes, Murdock.”

He has more to say, but although B.A. is still giggling, there’s a nervous edge to the pair of them tonight and he can feel them pulling in again, a unit of themselves, protective and wary. Face doesn’t plan on pushing his luck. He waits until he hears B.A. start to snore before he considers speaking again.

If Face is annoyed, and he’s not sure that he is, he doesn’t know why. This really _isn’t_ Murdock’s fault. If anything, it’s his own. And it’s not that he really cares about the suit at all, only that Murdock is in it, and that Murdock is safe.

Nonetheless, it takes a lot out of Face to say, “I was worried about you, that’s all.”

That seems to do the trick. Through the dark, Murdock finally cracks what just passes for a smile. “Thanks, Faceman.”

“Guys,” Hannibal warns from the front of the van. “Don’t wake B.A.”

Face glances at Murdock, grinning, hoping to be met in the middle, something easy and familiar, but Murdock is asleep. Fair enough. Face rolls over, tucks his chin downwards to protect himself from the cold of the badly insulated food truck, braces his feet against the coffee machine drum and his back against Murdock, and drifts off himself.

Dawn is peeling away the darkness through the windshield when he next wakes. Murdock is making noises in his sleep, which Face guesses is what woke him. Wordlessly, B.A., who was on watch, climbs into the back. Somewhat unceremoniously, he nudges Face out of the way, then lies down and wraps himself around Murdock. They all lie parallel, like sardines in a can. B.A.’s back is warm and comforting, and Face leans over a fraction, hoping B.A. won’t catch on. Murdock makes a sort of choking noise, a bizarre contraction of his laughter from earlier, then a whine.

“Hey, be quiet, fool,” Face hears B.A. say softly. “Be quiet, crazy man. I got you.”

“Don’t let me fall,” Murdock whispers.

“You’re crazy. You ain’t fallin’. You’re right here in Faceman’s crummy old food truck – ” Face resents it, but he doesn’t need B.A. knowing that, so he holds his peace. Murdock sniffles himself into silence, coughing once or twice. 

If Hannibal wakes Murdock again to relieve him on watch, Face sleeps through it, but when he opens his eyes, Murdock is awake. They’ve shifted. B.A. is curled slightly, his hands tucked against his ribs and his head against Murdock’s chest. Murdock is propped on one elbow, his other arm thrown over B.A. protectively. He presses his face against the top of B.A.’s head and frowns vaguely, sightless stare directed at the wall opposite. His thumb traces soothing circles over B.A.’s upper arm.

Face scrubs a hand over his eyes and hauls himself into a sitting position – a night on cold metal, in his clothes, is not what he had had in mind. Murdock doesn’t look at him, but he says blankly, “Hannibal’ll be back soon.” 

B.A. curls slightly tighter and Murdock pulls him closer protectively. His voice is off, the way it is sometimes, like himself, but like a different version. He is distant, but he looks after them. There is a ring around his neck now, faint and purple.

Three seconds, thinks Face, and nods. “I hope you’re both okay after last night,” he says, and his voice cracks and he hates it. He clears his throat. “I mean, I’d hate for anything to happen to you guys. Who’d keep my tailor in business?” He laughs nervously.

“Nothing’s gonna happen to us,” says Murdock. “We take a lot of killin’.”

Again, Face nods. Three seconds isn’t enough. They weren’t too late after all.


End file.
